


Power

by fools_seldom_write



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, Edging, F/M, Hand Jobs, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 02:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19039366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/pseuds/fools_seldom_write
Summary: Hillary Clinton pays Donald Trump a visit in the Oval Office, to take back something that was supposed to be hers.





	Power

Having Hillary Clinton sit in _your_ Oval Office, not to mention on _your_ chair behind _your_ desk, isn't anything that happens every day. In fact, Donald Trump didn't expect it to happen at all. And yet there she was, with her feet on the desk like she owned the place. Which she certainly didn't.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" That was the first thing he asked. He had a lot more questions. How did she even get past all this security? Normally, people shouldn't even be allowed anywhere fifty feet around the White House, and no one ever made it _this_  far.

"I wanted to talk to you." Clinton simply answered. She didn't seem to see any problem with her presence in the Oval Office. She almost looked casual.

"You have my phone number." Trump said. It was a thing he usually didn't like to admit, but he was totally flabbergasted at the moment and would take every opportunity to get this situation under control again. He didn't like when things weren't under his control.

"But calling is so... _impersonal_." Clinton answered and got up from the chair. From Trump's chair.

She didn't make the situation any less confusing and Trump hated her for it. Of course calling was impersonal. Their relationship wasn't _supposed_ to be personal. They were enemies, for god's sake. Normally, enemies shouldn't even call each other.

Clinton went around the Resolute Desk and positioned herself about two feet in front of him. He was almost glad she didn't wait for his answer before continuing to talk, because he didn't have one. But of course that didn't exactly help getting the situation under control.

"I came here because I need something from you." She said.

What the hell could she ever need from _him_? She despised him. Even if her life depended on it, she'd probably be too proud to ever admit she needed something from him. It was a sentence that gave him power over her, power to deny her what she needed; and she should be smart enough to know that.

"What?" Trump asked. Before deciding what to do with this situation, he had to know all the facts. He shouldn't just deny her if he could have a lot more fun with her, after all. His pants grew a little tighter at the thought of that, but of course he would never admit getting a boner over Hillary Clinton.

"Something you took from me." Clinton said. "You owe it to me."

Trump blinked at her. Yes, he did try to take a lot of things from her. He did succeed in taking the chance to become president from her. But she couldn't seriously expect him to just hand that over, right? She wasn't _that_ stupid. He had worked hard for that, he wouldn't just give it to her of all people. "I won't give you anything." Trump said. She was getting too demanding. Continuing to play this game could be dangerous. Not that he didn't like a bit of danger.

Clinton tilted her head a bit. She didn't look like she was anywhere near giving up, unfortunately. "I never asked you to give it to me." She said. "I will take it."

Trump almost choked on the air he breathed in, but quickly played it off as a cough. The way she stood in front of him in his Oval Office as if it was hers did _things_ to him and he didn't like it one bit. He shouldn't enjoy this, he shouldn't enjoy _her_.

But when Clinton took another step toward him and placed one hand on his chest, he couldn't deny the part of him that just wanted to throw her over the Resolute Desk and take her right then and there. The thought made him visibly shudder. What was she doing to him?

A low growl escaped his throat. "You don't want to do this." He said. Every muscle in his body tensed when he had to stop himself from grabbing her hair and forcing her down on her knees to suck his dick.

"You don't know what I want." Clinton simply replied. Trump noticed that her hand on his chest slowly began wandering downwards. Was that actually happening? _Fuck_.

She took way too much time to get down to his junk, but when she finally did, he conclusively knew that he wouldn't be able to stop this anymore even if he wanted to.

Clinton lightly grabbed his half-hard dick through his trousers, moving her hand down his shaft to his tip. Trump couldn't help but close his eyes, a soft moan escaping his lips. It'd been a while since anyone decided to touch him there out of their own free will, and _god_ did it feel good. She moved her hand almost painfully slowly along the bulge in his pants, but he resisted the urge to grab her hand and force her to fasten her rhythm. Hillary Clinton, _that_ Hillary Clinton, wanted to get him off. He was afraid to even breathe as that could scare her off.

With her other hand, Clinton loosened his tie, making breathing easier while she still stroked his dick through the way too thick fabric of his pants. He desperately needed to feel her fingers on his skin, but he couldn't ask for it. If he needed something from her, it would give her power over him.

Then Clinton's hands disappeared completely and he opened his eyes again, blinking down at her. There was a pleased smile on her face and he couldn't help but think he was giving her exactly what she wanted. It was worth it.

Clinton made a few steps back, never breaking eye-contact. "Come here." She said, no, ordered. He probably shouldn't just do what she told him without question, but that wasn't important now. He needed her to touch him again, now.

So he followed her until she leaned against the Resolute Desk, and she opened his pants after a few strokes of his dick to reward him. "Close your eyes." She whispered. He followed her orders without a second thought this time, impatiently awaiting what she would do to him next. She didn't do anything for a few way too long seconds, then one hand slithered into his pants. She felt cold and slick and he realized she must have put lube on her hand. He couldn't help but smile.

Clinton pulled down his pants a bit, just far enough so she could pull out his dick. Like that, she had much more of a free hand, and she immediately used it, putting her fingers around his cock and jerking him off, faster than before. A groan built up in his throat. She was good.

Clinton fastened her rhythm again and he felt his breath getting quicker. He opened his eyes to look at her, to take in the whole picture; he wanted to see her face while she got him off. But as soon as she noticed, she stopped, slowly shaking her head. "Tz." She made.

Sighing, he closed his eyes again, and she continued right away. It was still hot to know Hillary Clinton was the one doing this, even if he couldn't watch her. If he did what she told him to, would she let him fuck her? Would she bend over that desk, would she allow him to grab her hair as he pounded her, would she moan and scream as he hit her sweet spot? _God_ , what was she doing to him?

He didn't even realize he was grunting when Clinton got quicker, pushing him closer to orgasm. But just as he could feel the pleasure building up inside of him, she suddenly squeezed his base and the feeling faded again.

Trump surpressed the reflex to open his eyes, knowing she wouldn't let him keep them open anyway. "Why'd you stop?" He panted, voice deep and raw.

"I'm not finished yet." Clinton simply answered. "It's time for me to take what was supposed to be mine."

For the fraction of a second, panic flooded his body. The thought that this might have been a trick overcame him, some part of a bigger plan to hurt him. But then she pulled down his pants farther and he relaxed again. He didn't realize he had held his breath until he breathed out again.

She stroked his dick again lightly, almost playfully. She touched him just enough to keep him close to his orgasm while making sure he didn't cum. It was torture, and yet it felt better than anything he had ever experienced.

But when Clinton's hand moved further down past his balls and finally pressed against his asshole, he immediately tensed up again. He was just about to open his mouth to ask her what the fuck she thought she was doing, when her other hand tightly grabbed his balls and he froze in the midst of his movement.

"What are you going to do?" Clinton teased, her voice sounding way too self-satisfied. "Say no?"

It was a hypothetical question and they both knew it. It was in that moment that Trump realized he had indeed been tricked. Any control he might have had over this situation was gone and he was completely at Clinton's mercy. He was right not to expect a lot of mercy from her.

Clinton didn't wait for an hypothetical answer. She forced one lube-slick finger into him without hesitation and he could feel his muscles cramp around her. It was not as painful as he expected, but still uncomfortable in the worst way.

He could hear Clinton chuckle quietly. "If you have ever asked yourself how the women you raped felt, this is it." She stated. He could almost see her smug smile through his closed eyelids. "Relax, or this will be worse for you."

Trump slowly breathed out. "Worse than this?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. It was probably way too late not to show weaknesses anyway.

"Darling, this is just the beginning." Clinton said. Besides his fear, his cock twitched at her calling him darling in that soft, smooth voice, and he felt like his body was betraying him. It reminded him that he was still awefully close to orgasm.

But he was quickly distracted from that when Clinton pushed another finger inside of him and he remembered her telling him to relax. It could just get better, right? But his attempts to relax his muscles failed almost completely. And when Clinton began moving her fingers inside of him, he lost it completely. "Please." He whimpered, painfully aware of how pathetic he sounded in this moment.

Clinton hummed, sounding very pleased with herself. Of course she was.

He felt her lips brush his cheek, then she whispered with her mouth close to his ear: "Beg harder."

It felt like her words sent an electric shock of arousal through his body as he realized what she was saying, and he couldn't explain to himself why it turned him on so much. A thoughtless moan escaped his lips and he blushed now that she would definitely know what effect she continued to have on him.

When he didn't beg, she added a third finger, stretching him wide open. The pain he felt was rather mild, but something like this was never done to him and he just wasn't used to the feeling.

"Why are you doing this?" Trump asked. In this situation, she could do almost anything to him, yet she chose to finger-fuck him in the ass.

"Because I can." Clinton said, beginning to rhythmically thrust her fingers into him. "And because I want to." In that moment, she scraped something inside of him, he didn't know what, but it felt absolutely amazing. He jerked back against her fingers to try and get more touch, groaning loudly.

But Clinton didn't give him more. Instead, she pulled out her fingers and went around him, never letting go of his balls, until she was positioned right behind him. Then something bigger pressed against his entrance and he realized she must have had a dildo with her. That sly bitch, she had really planned this whole thing. But of course he didn't have too much time to think about it.

It was surprisingly enough not too hard for Clinton to push her dildo inside his asshole, the lube allowed her to slide in without a lot of problems.

Trump grunted and he didn't know whether it was because of arousal or pain, since he felt plenty of both in this moment.

When Clinton was fully inside of him, he noticed her hips pressed against his, which meant she was using a strap-on. It made everything more real, getting fucked by Hillary Clinton. It was actually her doing this. That wasn't how he imagined to touch her just a few minutes ago.

"How does it feel?" She asked.

His whole body was trembling and he desperately searched for something to lean on, his hands finding the Resolute Desk and tightly gripping its edge. Leaned forward, some of the pain faded.

"How do you feel?" Clinton repeated, louder this time. She was obviously growing impatient.

Trump sighed. He could feel her pushing in a bit deeper, and she scraped that spot again. He almost fell onto the desk, leaning on it with his whole upper body now. "I don't know." He whispered. It was a lie. He knew. He felt more aroused than he ever had.

Clinton slowly backed away, then thrust into him with full force.

Trump actually cried out this time. His dick was trapped between the desk and himself and he felt the friction every time he moved, adding even more stimulation. It was already too much, and still he craved more.

Clinton continued to move slowly inside of him, making sure that the tip of her strap-on was always aimed at that sweet spot in his ass, and with every movement his arousal became stronger.

Trump didn't realize at first when she let go of his balls, he was too busy concentrating on his pleasure and trying his best not to moan. But he did realize that she didn't have his balls in her tight grip anymore. Technically, he was free to go. He could push her out of him, bend her over that damn desk and fuck her senseless. Regain the power of the situation. Yet, something was keeping him from that. He couldn't explain it. He didn't _want_ this to end. He wanted Clinton to continue. He liked it.

And that was worse than anything she could do to him. He felt utterly humiliated at how much he enjoyed this. He knew he shouldn't, he knew he should hate himself for this, but he couldn't bring himself to have any of these reactions, too great was his arousal.

His dick felt sore, being pushed against the hard wood of the Resolute Desk again and again, just enough friction to keep him close, but not exactly enough to get him there. Subconsciously, he had begun to push back against Clinton in the same rhythm.

"You like this, hm?" She remarked. He could almost hear her grin through the words.

Trump didn't answer. There was no need to humiliate himself further, to let her know she had succeeded in her plan. His body was saying enough as it was. He was already too exposed and vulnerable. No one had ever seen him like this, and the fact that the first person to get him to submit so much was his arch enemy didn't exactly make things easier. He made a mental note to google discreet therapists later.

Clinton didn't seem to like his lack of responses. She grabbed his hips with both hands and firmly held him in place, pressed against the desk in an almost painful way, stopping her rhythmic thrusts. For a second, the only sound filling the room was their quick, heavy breathing.

"I don't like to be ignored." She talked slowly, choosing her words and tone carefully. Her nails dug into his skin a bit too much for his comfort. He bit back a noise of pain. "Tell me, _Mister President_ , are you enjoying yourself?" She was quite clearly mocking him, addressing him like that, and he was surprised to notice it didn't bother him as much as it should.

Trump knew he wouldn't get away with an _I don't know_ this time around. She wanted to degrade him by making him admit how much he liked it. He, on the other hand - well, he wanted to get off. Normally, he tried to finish quickly. He was an important man with a tight schedule and, even though he would never admit that to anyone, he wasn't the youngest anymore. What Hillary Clinton was doing to him almost drove him insane. What she gave was never quite enough, but too much for him to cool down. He was still too close to think completely clearly, and that was probably what prompted him to say his next words too. "Please." Trump said, breathless. "Please don't stop."

Clinton slowly pulled out of him, removing her hands from his hips at the same time. The sudden lack of physical contact made Trump visibly nervous. He was unsure of what would happen next, and he didn't know if he did something wrong. "You think you can tell me what to do?" Clinton asked, rather coldly.

Trump swallowed. "No?" He fought back the urge to just reach for his dick and finish himself off, not just because he knew she wouldn't let him. He didn't want this to end that way. He wanted Hillary Clinton to make him cum.

An unexpected smack on the ass made him yelp. It wasn't hard, just enough to make it sting for a moment. Almost playful. "That's right." Clinton said. He couldn't exactly read her tone this time. "You're mine. If I want to fuck you in your ass, I will do that. If I want to make you beg for it, I'll do that. If I want to deny you completely, leave you hanging... I'll do that too."

Trump couldn't help himself. "Please don't." His voice was too high. He paused for a moment, tried to think. "Do you want me to beg?" A wave of arousal flooded his body at the suggestion. Begging Hillary Clinton to fuck him... Now that was something he surely didn't expect from this day.

Clinton chuckled, and pushed her strap-on back into him, tightly grabbing his dick with lube-slick fingers at the same time.

"I only want one thing." She said, moving slowly, building up tension again. "You remember, the reason I'm here. I'm taking back what you took from me. Do you have an idea what that could be?"

Her hand slowly jerking him off while she hit this special spot inside of him felt so good, it was hard to concentrate on anything else. Trump let out a strained breath, trying to clear his foggy brain. "The presidency?" He asked. He was too far gone to worry about what that would implicate. To worry about anything else than his orgasm slowly building up. Fuck.

Clinton made a disapproving yet amused noise. "Power." She said, and as she said that, she fastened her rhythm exactly right and Trump felt his orgasm overcome him.

Everything else faded as the pleasure got overwhelming. His muscles tensed at once, he heard himself moan but didn't quite realize he was doing it, and if his eyes weren't closed already, his vision would've gone out for sure. If his memory was any good, and he doubted it was in this moment, that was one of the most intense orgasms he ever experienced. The pleasure decreased slowly, getting replaced by pain more and more until it was enough to pull him out of his trance. He was hurting. He couldn't quite pin down where the pain began and the pleasure ended; but his whole body felt sore and used up and he had the strong need for a long nap. Maybe he would wake up and realize all of this had just been an intense dream, and he could move on from it without any real world consequences. Without having to see Clinton's smug face or being reminded of this degradation every time he sat down. Thinking of Clinton...

She slowly pulled out, wiped his dick and hole with a tissue to get off the lube again, and it sounded like she was putting away her stuff.

Trump moved carefully, he felt lightheaded and weak, had to keep leaning onto the desk to ensure he wouldn't fall. That was the last thing he needed. He opened his eyes and got used to the light in the room, he pulled up his pants and straightened his jacket and adjusted his tie and turned around a bit to look at Clinton. She looked back at him, right into his eyes, and he quickly looked down again.

"So, uh..." He said, beginning the sentence without any idea what he actually wanted to say. Was there even anything he could say?

Clinton interrupted him before it could become obvious. "I recommend painkillers, cushioned chairs and an ice pack for the junk." She said in her most professional tone, like she was talking about politics, or the weather.

Trump cleared his throat. "You broke into the most secure building on the planet to fuck me in the ass?" The words escaped him before he could think about them too much, and it was probably better that way. If he had any say in this, he would avoid thinking in general for at least the next few hours. Nothing good would come from his brain in regards to what just happened.

Clinton looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but didn't. "A little over twenty years ago, my husband fucked a woman in this room that wasn't me. Since then, I have lied awake many nights thinking about why he did it." That was... oddly personal. Why would she tell him of all people about something so private and vulnerable? "Now, I know by now why my husband felt the need to fuck a woman half his age that wasn't his wife. I don't think I want to grant you that privilege. If I can say anything, I hope you will lie awake just as many nights, replaying this in your head, re-living pain and humiliation and - perhaps, worst of all - arousal, and asking yourself not only why I felt the need to fuck a man I hate that isn't my husband, but why you let me." She ended her speech with a smirk, clearly pleased with herself. "Good day, Mister President." Hillary Clinton left the office without checking for staff that could notice her behind the door, left the office as if it was hers, and her wandering around the White House was the most normal thing in the world that surely wouldn't raise any questions or, God beware, concerns. She left him with a feeling of unease, almost bordering on fear, and the certainty that whatever it was she had tried to do here today, she had succeeded.


End file.
